High Noon

The contest for the Democratic presidential nomination is a gripping tragedy. Fundamentally, wining the nomination is not an end but a beginning; and finally being elected the leader of the free world, especially at this sensitive time, will not be akin to the period which finishes a sentence. There will be no victory parade.

The world has problems, and America – with its own unique grief to quell – is just a piece in the global contest. As pompous as it may sound, our international friends and enemies are following this race closely. They say “America, help us,” or “America, stop meddling,” or “America, apologize!” But from Europe, to South America, to Africa and Asia, heads are turned toward the steadfast beacon of liberty (or imperialist savagery depending on whom you ask) for the first time since before the Cold War got a little out of hand.

It’s quite possible that we the people will change the face of politics from its historical fair-skinned white-haired patriarchal caricature. If we do not vote for a white man, we will need to justify that departure from tradition, not to convince others but to be sincere in our choice. So, everything our presidential candidates say, on stage and off, must be closely inspected. Whether we vote on character or policy, issues or values, the 2008 contest will be expressive if not conclusive.

Reps aren’t necessarily jumping on any bandwagon, but the Dems are getting hardcore in a subtle way. The Obama and Clinton fight has been an uplifting one, hesitant to come to blows. But underneath a support for one is a repudiation of the other’s being. Yet the competing platforms are “95% the same” on some issues, as we heard in Thursday’s Austin, TX debate. The format sat the two idols like school children, on tiny glass writing tables dwarfed by the massive wooden desk holding a gang of moderators. It was but a sweet-tempered visit to the principal’s office.

Fortunately for the viewer, it was a forum of straight-talk. Barack was displaced from his sermon-style animation, and Hillary was spared of articulating any body language (which is always awkward and robotic). In this new environment, we learned many things: neither candidate will explicitly commit to a sit-down with Castro’s successor; Obama kind of likes Hillary’s healthcare plan but wants every American to have the right not to; Clinton is confident in her experience, and Obama is just plain confident. Each senator took notes and spoke in turn, save a denial uttered under a breath here and there.

Wait a minute! Barack explained that a campaign adviser wrote lines for the Democratic frontrunner to regurgitate, making Clinton’s plagiarism accusation bogus. “Change you can Xerox” is not even a good line. Nothing lasts forever, but nothing is original: especially a Clinton presidency. Still, if that’s the only squabble the gentleman and gentlewoman can generate, then it’s going to be a long walk to the DNC this summer.

Consider the following carefully. Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton very much want your money. You may not visit their respective internet addresses without first being asked to contribute. I can assure you that Barack has a better web-design team and, arguably, better marketing. Upon arrival, Barack and family greet you and ask to spam your inbox; after skipping that foolishness, the actual informational site features a Obama, sans jacket, challenging the sun to a staring contest. The accompanying quote asks you not just to believe that he can change Washington, but that you can. How poetic. It then strikes me, that the senator from Illinois had the audacity to use Sam & Dave’s “Hold On” at rallies without permission. Dude, you’re a lawyer, c’mon man. Now, a vehemently cautious Sam Moore has written the campaign to say he does not wish his musical legacy to be attached to a purpose he is not passionate for, but probably would have allowed the play if the change-guys had had an inkling of professional courtesy.

Hillary Clinton’s contribution request is quite a bit lengthier. Beside a petition of urgency is a wide angle snapshot of a suited Clinton wearing a contrived smile that would make The Joker blush. Next you are forwarded to another sign-on/contribution form and a close-up of the senator that’s actually quite flattering. The embedded link directs you to an uninspired webpage and crude chart begging you to help Hill match the Obama camp’s ad budget in the Birthplace of Aviation.

I’ll spare you the sites’ contents, lest you should read each one. The tragic element is that American politics is no longer black and white, Whig and Tory, Patriot and Loyalist, Yankee and Rebel, or Conservative and Liberal Commie Bastard. The intricate network of small factions pushing big issues in conflict with one another ensures that any victor, McCain included, will lack mainstream sway. There will be no landslide, no reconciliation. But in all likelihood the Democratic ticket boasts a female and a black man against John McCain and whomever. I only wish that certain Obama supporters refrain from Uncle Tom name-calling against black Americans who read the positions and give their money or votes to Missus. AWS

King Harvest

The Band was an ensemble, a quintet of the finest caliber of musician-vocalists (well, but Robbie couldn't sing and Garth didn't) to ever produce rock and roll music. Their sound evoked contrived memories of an idealized American identity. Technically, they led a reserved rebellion against psychedelic Brit-rockers whilst paying tribute to the very same country, blues and early rock 'n roll legends who were so influential to the Beatles, Eric Clapton and Cream, and the Rolling Stones. It was Levon Helm kept The Band's unapologetic American image authentic - being the only non-Canadian in the group.

Born in Marvell, Arkansas, Levon met Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, Robbie Robertson, and Garth Hudson as each joined him in the backing band for eleventh-hour-Rockabilly small-potato Ronnie Hawkins (I like the Hawk, but reality is he never enjoyed recognition). The boys cut their teeth in latter day saloons across Canada, going on to persevere an illustrious if tumultuous sixteen-year nine-album career. The Band disbanded when Robbie's cinematic, broad and experimental vision clashed irreconcilably with Levon's old-time-religion approach to instrumentation and invention.

If we cannot have another Band album (some members have passed, and a certain guitarist is irreplacable), we must count ourselves fortunate to receive Helm's October 2007 Vanguard Records release, Dirt Farmer. The collection of performances personifies the element Levon brought to the fold in his ensemble days, but independently. Yet the production possesses the gritty humility and potent minimalism of the Brown Album (The Band). Consequently the listener is allowed on the porch with Levon and his family and friends, allowed even to clap and holler along with the players.

This is not the brawling dirty-blues of a midnight ramble but the flat-picked twang of an America underrepresented in even the finest contemporary country music recordings. Consider: Levon Helm is 67; he has not recorded in 25 years. His voice endured utter depletion in response to throat cancer treatments which confined his expression to drums, mandolin, and guitar for some fourteen years; Helm sang for the first time since only four years ago. Apparently he regained his capacity for rich wailing and tender gospel harmony rather quickly.

The album is a triumph for Levon as much as it is for the New-Deal folksongs of his childhood. Like the farmer so saved by the labor unions, the subject of The Band's "King Harvest," Levon recaptures the masterful execution of a studio recording that has eluded his career since American Son (a 1980 solo effort which included his cover of "Blue Moon of Kentucky"). Indeed, for Levon Helm, king harvest has surely come. I just hope that fate brings me to Woodstock before long to witness a Midnight Ramble first-hand. AWS

Another Whistle Stop

In the days when rail was the preferred means of travel, politicians would campaign across great great distances, stop in small towns and lead brief rallies whilst never leaving the caboose. The appearances were called whistle stops. "Another Whistle Stop" nods to the rich history of communication in general and, specifically, the merits of waxing philosophical on diverse subjects using a single forum.

AWS is an editorial page - a magazine-like collection of stories, opinions, events, and designs which are of interest to the author. Content may well include postings of a musical, architectural, cinematic, social, political, or global nature. The purpose of AWS, unlike the missions of Gilded-Age politicians pontificating from train coaches, is not to convince a readership but rather to present news and culture in the context of a history that is multi-dimensional and open to infinite interpretations.

It is said that one never changes his mind, but makes new decisions based on new information. In that vein, AWS reserves the privilege of propagating competing interests, ideas, and perspectives without limitation. To ensure that this forum retains some degree of dignity, AWS will make every attempt not to be a factual account of what the author did today in favor of op-ed pieces with evident appeal and propriety of prose. Please enjoy.AWS